Page 46 of The Jock
Wes kissed his hair, his forehead, his soaked eyes. “I love you,” Wes murmured. “I love you, Justin.”
Now that he could say it, he was going to say it over and over, until Justin believed him. And then he’d still keep saying it, tell him he loved him all the time.
Justin’s tears soaked his skin, and his nails left half moons over his pecs. He’d have bruises tomorrow, but he didn’t care. Justin pushed himself up, gazing at Wes as wounded-animal noises fell from him, sniffs and broken breaths and shuddering cries. “If I let myself love you, are you going to break my heart again?”
“No.” Wes slid his hand through Justin’s hair, then ran his palm down Justin’s back. He held him against his chest until their heartbeats pounded in rhythm as if they were trying to reach each other. “Never again. I swear.”
It was all up to Justin. He wouldn’t push. He wanted, so badly, but this was Justin’s choice to make. Wes had already made one choice for him, and he’d never be able to take that back. If Justin forgave him, if he gave them a second chance that Wes didn’t deserve… maybe he’d be able to survive this season, and the fame, and the constant, relentless pressure. The microscope he’d been shoved under. If he had Justin’s forgiveness, then somehow, some way, he’d be able to survive.
Justin’s chin quivered. But he reached for Wes, and he laced their fingers together. Brought Wes’s hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles, a mirror of Wes’s movements only a few minutes before. “I love you, too. Damn it, I love you, too, and I can’t stop.”
Chapter Fourteen
When dawn spilledover the horizon, tipping a paintbrush of marigold and bluebonnet across the eastern sky, Wes was holding Justin in his arms as they lay in his truck bed, watching the stars fade and whispering into each other’s ears and lips and necks.
Wes spilled his guts about how overwhelmed he was. Being named one of the best players in the nation was something he’d never expected. Nor was being named team captain, or shouldering the responsibility of making everyone’s dreams come true. Coach rode him hard, had him reviewing tape from the other teams in their conference and from NFL tight ends, the greats and the failures. What to do and what not to do.
He tried to describe how his stomach went squirmy every time he was recognized. Every time someone pointed, every time someone called his name or he heard whispers behind his back, as if he were a character in a story for people to project their thoughts onto and not a real, live man with thoughts in his head, feelings in his heart.
And he whispered to him about how he’d stared at Justin’s photo every night. How he’d wished on every falling star in West Texas to turn back time and have a second chance. Another day, even a moment, to tell Justin he loved him.
Justin told Wes about his summer, how he’d swung from the highest high to feeling like his heart had been carved out of him. The yo-yo of agony and anger, anguish and rage. Questions he could never answer. How his dad was such a fan, and how, even when Justin wanted to bury himself away and never see football again, his dad still watched ESPN and SportsCenter and talked about Wes’s upcoming season like it was prophesied in the Bible.
“He has no idea it was me?”
Justin shook his head. “I would have told him if you said it was okay, but I never got the chance to ask.” He kissed Wes when Wes flinched. “After, it just seemed cruel. To you and to him.”
“I hope I meet him someday.”
“Play your cards right, and maybe you will.”
“I intend to.” He kissed Justin, warm and sweet.
“What does this look like?” Justin finally asked. They’d avoided the specifics, but as day approached, there were things they couldn’t push off any further. “When we get back to campus. What does us dating, but keeping it quiet, look like?”
A zing went through Wes as Justin spoke. Him and Justin, dating. “What do you want it to look like?”
“I want it to look like I support you,” Justin said, his voice sharp. “Stop deflecting. I’m not asking for an impossible answer. I want to know whether I can acknowledge that I know you when we see each other. What are the boundaries when we’re in public?”
“Of course you can acknowledge that you know me.” Jesus, did Justin think he would keep him hidden away like a dirty little secret? “I want to see you every day. I want to spend every free moment I can with you. I want to meet you for lunch between practices and do homework together. I want to take you on dates and drive out to the country like this. Watch the stars and—”
“Fuck in the truck bed?”
“Make love to you every chance I can. It won’t be easy with my schedule, but I want to be with you. Really with you. I’ll make time, I swear it.”
“People might think we’re friends if we do all that.”
“Good. I hope they do.”
“Oh,” Justin said simply.
“Is… that what you want?”
“Yes.” Justin cradled his face. Smiled. “Yes, but I didn’t know if I’d get what I want.”
“You will. I promise.”
They kissed until Wes couldn’t ignore the forward march of time any longer. “I have to get back,” he said against Justin’s lips. “I have practice.” Justin kissed him again, rolling onto Wes’s lap. His long hair fell in a curtain around Wes, shading his face. Wes twirled the strands in his fingers. Brought the ends to his nose and inhaled. “My hat still smells like you, you know. I haven’t been able to wear it since Paris because it smells like you.”
